Page 12 of Forged in Peril

She paused at Jaclyn’s locked office door–she’d already headed home about thirty minutes before–and through the small square window she could see her boss’s view of the gleaming lights of downtown San Antonio.

Her office wasn’t quite as glamorous, and all she could see through her window was an alleyway, but it was still nicer than her office at D&P.

Besides, if she stuck to her plan, it would only be a few more years until she had a shot at moving up in the world–and the floorplan.

As she headed out into the various twisting hallways of the fourth floor, she was struck by how isolated the legal department was, especially when the cluster of offices around the corner were empty.

She pushed aside her unease as she made her way toward the elevator, clutching her overstuffed bag to her chest.

This was a security company, with twenty-four-seven guards, alarms, and cameras. She seriously needed to get a grip.

She was exhausted, and thoughts of falling asleep in her cozy childhood bedroom drove away her lingering anxiety by the time the elevator doors closed. She waited as she was whisked down to the first floor and the employee-access stairs that led to the basement and the garage.

As she stepped into the stairwell and started down, she could feel the cool air of the subterranean space prickling against her skin.

She reached into the side pocket of her bag, digging for her keys as she balanced the folded pair of sweatpants under her elbow. She’d insisted on getting the pizza sauce out and bringing them back to Grace as good as new, and fortunately, her benefactor hadn’t objected.

She cringed to herself as she thought back to lunch hour. As a teenager, she’d hated that popular book with the teenage girl that fell apart at the mere sight of her way-too-old-for-her vampire boyfriend, and yet here she was, turning into a clumsy dork in the presence of Cameron Forge.

This was exactly why she’d left Silver Grove, and why she’d stopped going along with the script that every woman in her mother’s church seemed to follow: snag a husband, have a baby, quit your job, stay home, and lose yourself to dirty diapers and playdates.

It wasn’t who she was any more.

And a handsome face wasn’t going to turn her back into the pathetic, weak person she’d been all those years ago.

Not a chance.

As she strode out into the garage and past the rows of mostly-empty parking spaces in search of the area where she’d left Boris, she was thankful once more for the bright lights that illuminated the large space. There were no dark corners, no shadows where some creep could hide out and wait for an unsuspecting woman to leave the office alone.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel the familiar tightening in her stomach muscles as she looked around, wishing that she wasn’t so alone.

There were no security guards in sight–she assumed they would be patrolling most of the building, not hanging around in one area all night–and the vast majority of her coworkers had certainly gone home hours ago.

She hummed to herself, the sound taking the edge off of the ominous silence.

“You’re fine,” she said out loud, forcing herself to sound as calm as she wanted to feel. She’d laughed when her therapist had suggested the idea, but now that she’d tried it, she had to admit it did help a little. “You can lock the door, start the car, and be out on the busy street in like two minutes. Relax, Bristol. Everything’s ok–”

As she passed a large pillar, she stopped short.

Her facade of calm gave way to blinding, crushing panic.

Boris was parked there in the corner, but there would be no hopping in and driving off.

All four of the tires had been slashed more than once, leaving great black gashes in their sidewalls like claw marks from some huge beast.

Three words were scrawled across the entire side of her silver car, the bright red tone of the spray paint seared into her retinas.

SHUT YOUR MOUTH.

Bristol stood still, trying to force her lungs to take in slow breaths of air, but her body didn’t want to cooperate.

She felt her hands shaking.

Her knuckles white against the straps of her bag, the documents inside no doubt crushed as she pulled her arms as close to her body as she could. She wanted to make herself a smaller target, and to find a dark corner of her own where she would be safe, but it was useless.

Just like it had been that night at the offices of Dorling & Porter, when junior associate Dillon Warrington had assaulted her.

She’d tried to push him away, and when that didn’t work, she’d tensed up her body until her muscles screamed.

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